


Wonders of the Moonlight

by hysteriadreams



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Nature, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hysteriadreams/pseuds/hysteriadreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Dominic admires Matthew in the moonlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonders of the Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekeyholder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/gifts).



It is in moments like this where I absorb Nature's beauty, where I take advantage of the Night’s silence—of all Her mysteries, of all Her shadows. I've always admired the subtle wonders of Midnight, where the nightly creatures start their lives. I wish I could lead a nocturnal type of life, but alas, I do not fit in Her darkness. I do not melt into Her shadows, or whisper Her faint euphony.

But Matthew does.

Whereas I’m a son of Sunshine, he’s a son of Midnight. He breathes, lives and speaks the rhapsody of la notte. As I glance to my left, I see him bathing in the moonlight, bathing in all his glory. He’s lying next to me on the grass with eyes closed and a bare chest, soaking up the glow of the stars. It doesn't surprise me that the cold Night air does not affect him; to Matthew, it is a blanket of warmth.

To Matthew, it is home.

Which is why I feel out of place, lying here in the presence of a God. He’s the Holy Angel of Darkness, and the Night’s most worthy servant. I watch him then—I watch the way the shadows dance on his glowing chest. He’s never looked as beautiful as when he is at peace in the Twilight; it’s as though I’m an artist and he's my far-away Muse. Ironic, is it not, that the Painter of Light admires the Dark; that the paintings of clean virtue always seem to have a shadow effect to them, because I paint what I see and it is beautiful. He’s beautiful.

Because he’s all I want and all I need, and that is beautiful, too.

Suddenly, as though he senses my winter eyes burning a hole through him, he opens his eyes and turns his head towards me. It hits me then, my reason for existence. I see it in his baby blues—his passion, his burning, his craving, his satisfaction.

The satisfaction he has when sharing a moment like this with me; I know the effect I have on him, and the one he has on me. We don’t need to vocalize it. We don’t need to shout it at the silent Night for all the Angels to hear. We don’t even need to think it, because we feel it.

We feel it all the time.

Which is why his next words shock me—they surprise me, they amaze me—because he’s never been the vocal type. It is also why his next words complete me.

“I love you,” he whispers. Then with a lazy smile, he turns his head again and his eyes flutter close. And just like that, I know I will never want anyone or anything else. He is my soul, my better half, and my love for him will be eternal.

I’m his Sun and he’s my Moon.

And that’s how it’s supposed to be, forever and always.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dedicating this story to Brigi, my anchor. I know you've read it before, but since you loved it, this is for you.


End file.
